Just For A While
by captain of the seven seas
Summary: It's not Paris without a love story, isn't it? / Paris 1964, in which John Lennon meets the mysterious Bridgette Hamilton and learns how the city of love can also be a labyrinth of broken hearts and mussed-up dreams.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is my first Beatles fanfiction, so go easy on me :D I'm doing this as a sort of 'experimental fic' that hopefully readers will point out mistakes in dialogue, setting and their attitude so I can improve in future fics. Thank you and always keep in mind that this is merely a fanfiction. _Au revoir! _:*

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, sadly.

* * *

The sunlight hit Bridgette in the face, tickling her features. Lifting a heavy arm across her face, she rubbed her eyes tiredly and let out a long yawn. With a groan, she sat up and blinked rapidly to get the sleepiness out of her eyes. As usual, the first thing she saw was the Eiffel Tower basking the sunshine.

"Well, _bonjour _Paris," her voice was soft and sleepy still. She cast a glance at the cracked alarm clock beside her makeshift bed which read 6:47. That means she just had less than half an hour to get ready and catch the 7:15 train.

In quick movements she washed her face, braided her hair, changed her clothes and slipped on a pair of shoes. Bridgette looked at herself in the tiny, chipped mirror and gave a sigh. She was wearing her dreary gray uniform once more. It was gray and bland and made her hair look like limp pasta. But there was no time to dwell on her unstylish appearances. It was almost seven and she had to rush to catch the train. With one last look at her cramped apartment (if you could call it that) she ran down the stairs and out the door.

Picking a bagel by a food stand, Bridgette walked to the train station. People were rushing about, most of them teenage girls. Her eyebrows rose up, not familiar with this sort of audience at this hour. She cast them a curious look, chewing her bagel slowly. Most of them spoke fast, fluent French and even if she was quite adapt in the language herself, she couldn't understand them at all. They were chattering and laughing, looking so carefree. She longed to be like them, whatever reason they're acting like that. Unfortunately, her life didn't permit her to do so. With a longing glance at the bevy, she entered the train station and aboard the train bound for the factory.

* * *

"Bridgette! _Me chercher _zee box of buttons! _Rapide!_" Adelina snapped her fingers and Bridgette ran down the vast room to fetch the item. She dodged multitudes of sewing machines and grabbed the item from the carefully stacked pile of boxes. After giving them to Adelina, she started to fold some dresses they already finished. She was merely a scapegoat in the large factory, doing medial jobs like folding dresses and fetching things for senior employees like Adelina.

She took a seat beside Fleur, another girl like her. She noticed Cornelia, Fleur's older, bolder sister wasn't there.

"Where's Cornelia?" She asked, folding a dark blue dress. Fleur scoffed, already halfway through her own pile of dresses.

"She eez out wiz zee ozzerz," Fleur was one of the few younger workers who spoke fluent english. Most of them spoke generic phrases like good morning and thank you. "To meet zee Beat-ullz."

"Beat-ullz?" Fleur maybe fluent in English, but her accent was heavy and difficult to understand sometimes.

Fleur gave an exasperated sigh. "Beat-ullz. Zee muzic group from London."

"Oh," she nodded, adding the now-folded dress to Fleur's growing pile. "The Beatles." Bridgette didn't love nor despise the band, she just didn't listen enough to them to have a solid opinion. She didn't have a radio and she certainly didn't have enough money to buy a record. She was about to tell Fleur this but was cut off by Adelina calling her name.

"Bridgette! _Me chercher _zee blue cloth! _Rapide!_"

"_Rapide!" _She muttered under her breath as she got up to get the box. It was going to be a _long _day.

* * *

By the time work was over, she folded at least a mountain of dresses, fetched a multitude of boxes and heard the word _rapide _so many times, it was starting to sound like a broken record inside her head. But it was only Monday and there would be five more days of those dresses, boxes and _rapide__'s. _

Bridgette walked slowly down the road, clutching a bag of bread that would serve as her dinner for the next three days. It was oddly quiet, but it was soon broken by a cacophony of shouts, squeals and screeches. Before she had time to turn around, she and her bag of bread went flying to the side. The shouting gradually disappeared and Bridgette found herself pinned underneath a heavy figure. She squirmed, her eyes darting around. She felt her heart shatter when she saw her precious bag of bread lying in a puddle. The figure let up and sighed happily.

"Quite an escape eh?" He flicked his shaggy hair away from his eyes then extended a hand to Bridgette. "John Lennon, by the way." She stared at him incredulously before getting very, very angry.

"An escape?!" She got up on her own and pushed him square on his chest. "That's my dinner you jerk!"

John looked at the pathetic looking bag then let out a guffaw. "That's your dinner? What a sorry little thing that is,"

Bridgette could feel her eyes getting teary with anger. "Sorry little thing? That sorry little thing is the only thing my wage could afford! And now, thanks to you-" she shot John a look so venomous, he took a step back.

"It's gone!"

"Look, sorry-" he started to say but Bridgette had enough.

"I haven't eaten since eight this morning and all I had was a pathetic little bagel!" She felt like taking out all her frustration on him. "That was one week worth of salary you prick! You know how much it hurts when you work your ass off for a week only to see it fly into a puddle because someone tackled you to the ground! You, John Lennon, are a rude, thoughtless man and-" Bridgette was cut off by a loud voice.

And it wasn't John.

"Run!" He grabbed her arm and she tugged back.

"Why?" No sooner than the word left her mouth John hiked her up his shoulder. She tried to shout but was surprised at the sight before her. Where they were standing only moments ago was now swarmed by teenage girls. She hadn't had time to ask a question because John was too busy running. He ducked into an alley and came out the other way. Bridgette could only see the backside. She heard the creak of a metal door and her view of the street was replaced of that of a posh hotel. People looked at her curiously and she ducked her head, feeling a blush spread across her flushed face. Only when they entered an elevator (Bridgette recognized its familiar ding) did John put her down, panting heavily.

"Christ you're heavy," he shot her a dirty look and Bridgette could feel the stirrings of her anger coming back.

"First you toss my dinner to a puddle, then you insult it, then you abduct me into this posh hotel and the you call me fat?" She ticked off each item mentally, feeling angrier by the second. She formed a fist to punch his gut but was cut off by John grabbing her hand again and promptly tossing her in a hotel room.

"John where have you- who the fuck is that?" A young man walked into the living room, his hazel eyes going round as saucers when he saw Bridgette there.

"Long story," John flicked the hair out his eyes once more, a habit Bridgette noticed he does whenever he wants to avoid confrontation.

"Who's here?" Another young male entered the room and dropped the spoon he was holding. Bridgette resisted rolling her eyes. She knew she wasn't supermodel gorgeous, or that her uniform made her look look like a walking potato sack but still. She isn't that ugly, is she?

A fourth one came in and his surprised/scared expression confirmed her question. Now she really wanted to cry. But she can't. Especially not in front of the rude John Lennon.

"Excuse me, but who are you people?" Bridgette spoke up. All she wanted to do right now was to go home and eat something. Maybe Monseiur Gosselin would be so nice to lend her a coin to buy some bread with.

"The question is, who are you?" Hazel-eyed shot back. John gave her a curious look. It dawned on her she never actually told him her name.

"Bridgette Hamilton." She answered impatiently and gave them a look as if to say 'your turn.'

They exchanged glances before hazel-eyed said, "I'm Paul, that's John, that's George and he's Ringo." Bridgette remained impassive and in a slightly surprised tone, Paul adds, "And we are the Beatles."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: THANK YOU AWESOME REVIEWERS :) chapter two is now in John's POV. And please don't hesitate to tell me anything or point out any mistakes! Thanks :*

disclaimed.

* * *

"And we are the Beatles."

John studied her expression carefully, expecting a shocked and excited look, but she only looked blank. "The Beatles?" Her eyebrows were knitted together, like she was thinking hard. Then her eyes lit up, a look of clarity on her face. "Oh, the music group?"

"Um, yeah." He piped up, his tone oozing duh.

A silence fell over them and Bridgette's eyes darted around, studying their faces before letting out a guffaw. "You're joking,"

John shook his head and the rest of them looked serious and a bit bewildered. It wasn't everyday they encountered a teenage girl who wasn't infatuated with them, much to John's chagrin.

"Right?" She adds in a lighter tone, but nobody objects. Sighing, her shoulders slumped and a look of defeat came on her face. "Look, I don't care if you're the Beatles or whatever but I just want you-" she pointed to John, "-to pay for my dinner and then go home."

"Afraid we can't let you do that, love." Ringo shrugged. John had a strange urge to punch him for calling Bridgette love, but she didn't seem to mind.

"Why?"

"There are paparazzi everywhere. If you go now, you'd get crushed to death." Paul bent forward, a slightly apprehensive look on his face.

Bridgette's face fell. "What?"

"Sorry love." There goes the love again. John hoped it wasn't becoming a habit.

"It's fine." Her voice sounds tired and dejected, making John feel incredibly guilty.

"Why don't you tell us about yourself while John makes you dinner?" George, who was (as usual) quiet during the whole ordeal, spoke up. He wanted to protest the dinner deal, but George was already shooting him a pointed glare.

"Fine." John stood from his chair and headed to the kitchen, followed closely by Paul.

"What the hell was that?" He hissed the moment they were out of earshot. He could hear Bridgette laughing with Ringo in the other room. He seriously needed to have a talk with the drummer.

"What?" John took a package of bacon and tore it open. Night breakfast, definitely.

"That girl, John!" Paul was seriously ticking him off. "Did you forget Eppy's rules?"

"Since when did you listen to Eppy?" He scoffed, grabbing a pan and placing it on the stove.

"Normally I wouldn't John, you know that." Paul grabbed the pan to catch his attention and he did. They were locked in a staredown, his eyes meeting Paul's familiar ones. "But we're this close to making it and one bird whose dinner you threw over will not get in our way."

He was about to retort when they entered. Bridgette looked much more relaxed now, following George to the six seater dining room table. Paul shoots him one last glare (he snorted), then follows them. Once seated he fires a question right away.

"Name, age, where do you live and how did you find John?" He peered at Bridgette's face, but she looks more relaxed now.

"Bridgette Sophia Hamilton, eighteen, I live in Paris and I found John because he tackled me to the ground for no apparent reason." She then turned to Paul. "You, why were you so shocked when you saw me here?"

"We're not allowed to have women over." He replied then leaned forward. "How come you never heard of us before?"

"I don't have the time to listen to records, Or afford them for that matter." She sounded nonchalant, but John could hear a bitterness underneath the surface. It sounded like him. He flipped the bacon in the pan as Bridgette fired another question. "What are you doing here in Paris?"

"Touring. How come you speak English?" John leaned forward to hear her answer. He has been wondering the exact same thing.

"I grew up in London." Her voice was a bit off now, like Paul said something wrong. "How come you tackled me to the ground?" Her question was directed to him now.

"To prevent you from being crushed to death by fans." He placed the now cooked bacon on a plate and grabbed two pieces of toast.

"What exactly happened?" George spoke this time.

"After he tackled me to the ground, I saw my bag of bread in the mud. After I told him it was my dinner, he called it stupid and then I got angry-"

"And then she screamed my name for all of France to hear!" John butted in, wanting to remind her it was not all his fault.

"Because you called my dinner pathetic!" Bridgette retorted, looking angry now. Despite this, John found her strangely attractive.

"Because it was!" He walked over to the table and placed the plate on it with a thud. Everyone's eyes were now on him. "Who eats bread for dinner?"

"Poor people!" She jumped up and was now glaring at him. Her eyes were a beautiful shade of green. John felt oddly discombobulated with this girl but he held his gaze nonetheless. Everyone felt like they were holding their breaths, Including John. "Look," she broke the silence, the same dejected tone seeping into her voice. "If you're just going to insult me, then I'd rather risk potential death by hyperactive fans." She made a turn to go away but was pulled back by George.

"No," his voice was a bit commanding now. Bridgette turned to look at him, their eyes locking. Neither one made a move and John felt like they were having a silent conversation. Finally, Bridgette sat down.

"Fine." She grabbed the plate and stabbed her fork through the bacon.

"Stop being a prick." George's voice was laced with warning and John recoiled. It wasn't always the young guitarist talked back with such viciousness. Before he could answer, George already joined Paul and Ringo's conversation. John stared at Bridgette instead, studying the strange girl.

He noticed that she ate at a normal pace but her hands were shaking as if wanting to eat faster. It seemed to him that she looked like she hasn't eaten for days. Her cheekbones were gaunt but not the way George's were. Her lips were pale and pink and her overall complexion looked ghostly. But her green eyes were vibrant and her dark blonde hair fell in big curls down her back. She was beautiful, even more so when she was biting her lip or when she was shooting him that dirty look that he found so attractive.

"Stop that." She was talking to him. It took a few seconds before registering what she said.

"Stop what?" John asked stupidly. Good god, what was this girl doing to him?

"Staring at me." Her voice was quiet, not wanting the others to hear her.

"Why? Afraid you'll fall in love with me?" Not the best comeback, but it was all he could think of. Bridgette rolled her eyes and shot him another one of those looks (oh, God).

"Just the opposite, actually." She smirked and then finished off her plate. John smirked back.

"Is that a challenge, Murray?" He leaned in closer. He could feel George's warning gaze on him now.

"Of course, Lennon." The name slid off her tongue so perfectly, making John's head spin in a good way. _Christ, I sound just like a queer!__  
_

"So," George butted in, making John lean back. Paul gave him a dark look and he flicked the hair out his eyes once more. "About you sleeping here Jette-" he shot George a dirty look at his nickname for her. Ringo noticed it and gave him a questioning gaze. He blatantly ignored him. "There's no guestroom so-"

"She can take my bed." John found himself speaking up. He slept in a separate room with all their equipment. Not the coziest, but certainly the most private. "It's the least I can do."

"Damn right it is," he could hear her mutter under her breath. "Okay. I'll take that."

"I'll take you there then." He stood up, earning two disapproving gazes. Ringo looked unsure of what to make of it.

"Any funny business John-" Paul started to warn but John held up his hand.

"Nothing." He looked serious now and he saw Paul and George exchange weary glances. "I promise."

"Alright." George says, still looking wary. John decides to let it slide. He was acting awfully protective of her.

"Night Paul, George, Ringo." She called as she got up.

"Night," Paul and George mumbled.

"Night love," Ringo chirped back.

Then he turned to the door and led Bridgette to his room. The walk was spent in silence. When they arrived, John opened the door, wincing at the mess.

"Sorry it's so disorganized but-" he started to say but Bridgette shook her head.

"It's fine." Then she turned to John, a small smile on her face. "Better than my old one already!" There was the bitterness, but he didn't question it.

He walked over to his dresser and took out a sweater Mimi made him bring. "Here," he tossed it to her and she catched it easily. "I never worn that, by the way."

She held it up to her skinny frame, the sweater was so big, it looked more like a dress. "This will do. Thank you John." She walked over and placed a feather-light kiss on his cheek. John could feel his heart hammering in his chest. "Goodnight Lennon," her tone was warmer now as she playfully pushed him out.

"What? I can't watch you undress?" He shot her a puppy dog look then grinned. "Goodnight Murray."


End file.
